Let me start by saying, this post is NOT about whatever kitchen design styles and materials are currently “trending”. What I want to do here is talk about something quieter, something slower: how kitchens, like the people who use them, deserve to grow into themselves rather than chase after someone else’s idea of right.
When I started designing kitchens, I did what everyone does in the beginning, I paid attention to what was considered good taste. I studied the rules. I learned the combinations that “worked.” And I followed them, until I didn’t.
It didn’t begin with a bold decision or some sudden urge to push against the current. The shift was more gradual, less dramatic. I simply started paying closer attention. Not to the headlines or the industry chatter, but to the quiet ways people described the places they felt connected to. The way their faces softened when they talked about a certain window, the chipped mug they reached for every morning, the way old floors gave a little underfoot. These details never showed up in brochures, but they carried meaning.
Somewhere in that noticing, the idea of staying “current” began to lose its appeal. Current with what, exactly? A kitchen, in my opinion, should reflect the shape of a life. It should be able to hold the soft disarray of daily routines, the small comforts, the unspoken rituals. You don’t discover those by following trends. You find them by listening to how you live and allowing those patterns to inform the space around you.
I remember a client, years ago, who wanted deep green cabinets. This was long before that color found its way into marketing decks and trend forecasts. She brought in a photo of moss growing on a stone wall. It had been taken on a trip years earlier, and she’d carried it around since. That color, she told me, made her feel steady. She wasn’t trying to make a statement. She just wanted to feel rooted when she walked into her kitchen each morning.
There’s nothing flashy about that kind of decision. But it’s the kind that holds. It lasts not because it’s timeless in some abstract sense, but because it means something. That’s what makes it durable.
When you’re surrounded by advice, well-meaning or otherwise, it’s easy to forget that you’re allowed to ask different questions. Not “what’s trending?” or “what’s the best material for resale?” but “what matters to me here?” and “what kind of light do I want to walk into on a rainy morning?”
Some of the most beautiful kitchens I’ve seen are full of tension and contrast. A sleek cabinet beside a hand-thrown bowl. A scuffed floor left untouched because it holds decades of footsteps. A brass faucet that doesn’t quite match the hardware but works anyway, in a way you can’t explain. These kitchens aren’t neat. They aren’t polished within an inch of their lives. But they breathe. And more importantly, they belong to someone.
You can find that same quiet beauty in some of the real-life kitchens featured over at Remodelista’s Kitchen. They aren’t chasing anything—they’ve settled into themselves.
There’s something freeing about giving yourself permission to follow your own instincts. Not in a reckless, chaotic way, but with quiet confidence. You start to recognize which details are worth caring about and which ones you can let go. That tile you keep coming back to even though it doesn’t “fit the palette”? There’s probably one reason. That vintage table you’re not sure will “work” with the rest of the space? Maybe it doesn’t have to.
Design, at its best, isn’t about getting everything right. It’s about building a space where something meaningful can happen. A kitchen where a late-night conversation turns into a memory. A counter where a child learns to make pancakes. A drawer full of mismatched utensils that somehow feels like home.
I won’t tell you to avoid trends. Some of them are genuinely beautiful. Some are clever, some even transformative. But if you find yourself hesitating, unsure whether you’re choosing something because you love it or because you’ve seen it ten times in a row, pause. That little flicker of uncertainty is worth listening to. It usually has something to say.
Your kitchen doesn’t have to be perfect. It just must be yours. And over time, that’s what makes it beautiful. Not the finishes. Not the fixtures. Not the fact that it photographs well. What gives a kitchen its shape, its gravity, is everything you bring into it.
So take your time. Let the space become what it wants to be. Make a few choices that feel irrational but right. Keep the light that makes the room glow in the late afternoon. Leave space for something unexpected. Let it be a little messy. Let it be full of you.
If you’re still finding your way into what feels right, you can always use KitchenCanvas Visualizer to explore color, texture, and material: without the pressure. It won’t tell you what to choose. It just gives you room to try things on, and see what you like.
And if, along the way, you start a trend, good. But don’t make that the point. Food for thought "trends are started by people not following trends".